


Hold on

by queenofroses12



Series: Whumptober Star Trek [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Healing, Hurt Jim, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Mind Melds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27993681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofroses12/pseuds/queenofroses12
Summary: Response to prompt: PoisonedA routine survey goes very badly wrong when Kirk falls victim to a poisonous creature. Spock has to resort to a very risky Vulcan technique to save his captain's life.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, James T. Kirk & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock
Series: Whumptober Star Trek [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982605
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	Hold on

“Dammit, Spock, I’m a doctor, not a miracle worker!”

McCoy’s voice almost broke on the last syllables. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the Vulcan’s dark eyes, knowing the hidden agony he would find there. He couldn’t bring himself to meet any of their eyes. He was a doctor, yes, and what sort of doctor was he if he was going to watch his best friend die before his eyes…

“Isn’t…Isn’t there anything we can do?”

Ensign Garrovick looked as shaken as McCoy felt. The doctor shook his head grimly, resisting the urge to snap at him. The kid was blaming himself. He could hear it in his voice. Did all the Starfleet people have this All-My-Fault syndrome?A security officer is supposed to be alert to all possible threats, but what does the kid think he could’ve done?

An accident. That’s the worst of it. Not a fight, not an enemy, not a gambit. Just a damn dumb accident. After all that they had pulled through, to end like this…

It had all started so well. A regular M Class planet, calm and lovely. That should have been enough warning, he supposed, given their experience of such paradise planets. But still, the survey had gone well, so well that Jim had allowed the ship to move off to remote-scan the neighboring, as yet lifeless, planets. There had been no threat, nothing that would have called for an instant beamout rescue.

Or so it had seemed, till their danger magnet captain had stumbled across what looked like one of the most venomous species on the planet. It didn’t look all that much like a snake – McCoy had gotten a good look at the specimen. Garrovick, who had been with Jim at the time of the accident, had had the sense to stun it and bring it along to be examined.

That would have been great – more than enough to synthesize an antidote – if he had the resources of the Enterprise sickbay at hand.

“How long till Scotty gets the ship here? “

He already knew it, of course, had asked that question more than half a dozen times already, but the Vulcan showed no sign of irritation – no sign of any emotion. Spock only went that much hundred percent Vulcan statue when he was struggling his hardest to hold back what he felt.

“I would estimate four point three seven hours, doctor.”

It was frustrating beyond all measure. The ship could cross light years in a matter of seconds when in warp, but warp speed was out of the question within a solar system as closely packed as this one was. The subspace disturbance of the gigantic ship going into warp could well tear apart more than a few of the planets.

So it had to be impulse – he remembered what Sulu said. Starships have only two types of speeds – very fast and very slow. It had to be very slow for the Enterprise this time, even if her captain lay dying in a cave less than three planets away.

Spock’s eyes were fixed on the pale, unconscious form of his captain. The Vulcan’s face was as expressionless as if carved of stone. Jim looked so young, this way. His star bright eyes closed, the near-superhuman charisma no longer in play, he looked so…small. Vulnerable. He would hate being seen this way. Not by them, not by Spock and McCoy, but by the junior officers, by the rest of the landing party. By his crew.

“He won’t last that long” McCoy admitted, the words nearly choking him.” He won’t last another half hour.”

Yeoman Thompson let out a muffled cry. Garrovick went paper pale. Spock was the only one of the party who showed no reaction to the dire pronouncement. The doctor had to stifle the urge to lash out, to ask him whether he cared either way. Spock cared, alright, and McCoy knew that much, at least, about him.

“Are you certain, Doctor?”

“You think I hand out terminal diagnoses for fun, Spock?”

“I certainly wished to imply nothing of the sort, Doctor. Merely…ascertaining facts.”

Spock hesitated a moment. McCoy knew that look – hope flared in his heart for a moment.

“Doctor, what do you estimate the captain’s chances of survival are if he were to hold on till the Enterprise arrived?”

“Ninety five or higher percent.” McCoy had no hesitation in making that statement. “But he won’t survive that long, Spock. He can’t. The venom’s drained all his strength. His body can barely keep his heart beating right now, forget fight the toxin in his bloodstream.”

Spock nodded, contemplatively.

“I believe I can be of assistance, in that case.”

McCoy stared at him.

“You can…”

“A Vulcan technique” Spock said calmly. Now every one of the Landing Party is looking at him. “D’Herisht.”

McCoy frowned. Now this part of Vulcan weirdness he had heard of, mostly because all the Vulcan weirdness research he did after the hobgoblin managed to basically self repair a gun shot wound in less than a day.

“The sharing of strength. The lending of strength…I thought you guys didn’t do that anymore…”

“Not unless the circumstance is dire enough. It is, now, if your diagnosis is accurate.”

Under other circumstances, McCoy would have bristled at the implications of that last phrase, but for now he opted to let it slide.

“Spock” he kept his voice calm, steady, keeping all hints of the fear he felt from it. “What would it do to you?”

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t have a clue what McCoy was talking about.

“There is some risk” he admitted. “However, I believe it is worth making the attempt, considering the only other option.”

McCoy, for a moment, let a doubt enter his mind whether Spock did know just how risky it was. Dumb question. Of course Spock knew. He didn’t know that McCoy knew, that was all.

D’Herisht was more than just psychic CPR, like it sounded at first. CPR didn’t stand the risk of killing the one administering it. What Spock was talking about was a..sort of blood transfusion, only with life force instead of actual blood. And with no way to make sure the donor didn’t end up giving too much.

Best case scenario, it was going to be agony for the Vulcan. Worst case…No, not death, though that was a real possibility, worse than that, his mind could well be destroyed as the dying human mind unconsciously reached out for more than he could give. Worst case, they could lose them both. Both Spock and Jim.

“Spock-“

McCoy stopped, because what was there to say? Jim was dying before their eyes. This way, there was a chance…Besides, if he did forbid him, was there even the slightest chance that Spock would listen to him?

The Vulcan moved closer to his unconscious captain, shifting to a kneeling position with Jim’s head cradled in his lap.

“Please move a little further away, doctor.”

McCoy obeyed wordlessly. Spock took a deep breath, steeling himself, then gently placed his hands against Jim’s temples. His lips moved, mouthing the words almost too soft to hear

“My mind to yours…My strength to yours…My life to yours…”

The junior officers watched with a hushed awe as slowly color flooded back to Kirk’s face. The captain’s breathing grew less harsh, less labored, his pained expression relaxing back into the calmness of deep sleep.

“My strength to yours…My life to yours…”

Spock’s expression was one of dead calm, blank as ever. But McCoy’s medical tricorder was not that easy to deceive. The doctor watched, terror mixed with awe.

Spock had ceased being aware of the scrutiny of his human crewmates. All of it was lost in the throbbing pain that was growing to a crescendo. It took all his willpower to keep the meld unbroken, to force his fingers to maintain contact with the body that was obliviously drawing his life away.

Jim was not aware of what was happening. The venom had imprisoned his conscious mind too deep. All that remained awake was the reptile brain, which recognized neither friendship nor love, which was aware of nothing but the simple imperative of survival. It reached for the strength of the stranger, taking without fear for the giver.

That was to the advantage, in this case. Jim may have tried to break the link, pull away, if he sensed the pain his friend was in, if he sensed what it was costing him. He knew that he was nearly past his limit, that his own heart was slowing within him. That, for the moment, couldn’t be helped.

“Jim…” he murmured, aware that the words could be a farewell.

He was lost within a kaleidoscope whirl of colors, lights, sounds and feelings. Jim’s mind, Jim’s memories… Always so bright, so chaotic, but with a strange method in the madness… He could sense the tide turning as Jim’s body battled the venom. The human’s mind was returning to the surface, his body gaining strength enough at last.

“Hold on. Fight.”

Spock whispered, as the kaleidoscope whirl within his own mind slowed and sank into darkness, drawing him down with it.

“Spock!”

McCoy caught the Vulcan as he fell. Dammit, what did you do, Spock? Still breathing, good, pulse still there..Slower than it should be, not vibrating away four beats per second the way it ought to, but still, steady. Pale as marble. Cold. But then, his skin always felt cold. He wasn’t sure how exactly that made sense in a desert evolved physiology, but so it was. No cause for alarm, or so he told himself.

“Doctor, are they…”

Garrovick’s eyes were wide as saucers as he tried to take in what just happened.

“That’s what I’m trying to check!” McCoy barked.

He laid Spock’s limp body on the floor of the cave, reaching for his tricorder.

Jim…Yes. Yes, the mind voodoo worked. Holding steady, stabilized. Not okay yet, far from okay, but the venom no longer had the upper hand. With the shared strength and Jim’s own mule headed stubbornness, there was little doubt of the outcome here. Still unconscious, but that was only to be expected. And just as well, McCoy supposed wryly. He doesn’t want to be the one to explain Spock’s current condition to a groggy James Kirk.

Spock…McCoy knelt close to the Vulcan.

“Spock?”

The doctor reached for some of the water they had brought, gently daubed Spock’s face with it. The dark eyes flickered open – blank, unseeing. McCoy’s throat tightened in horror as the possibilities he had pushed to the back of his mind came crashing back. No, no, you blasted hobgoblin, you aren’t going to check out, you aren’t going to leave me to explain this to Jim.

“Spock, can you hear me?”

Please, please be there, you stubborn…Please, Spock. How do you think Jim will take it if he wakes up to find that you-

Spock blinked, focusing on the wavering figure before him, not without considerable difficulty.

“Jim…” His voice was weak, slurred. “ It..it worked?”

McCoy let out a pent up sigh of relief as the medscanner confirmed his hopes.

“It worked” he promised. “It worked. He’ll be alright.”

Spock attempted to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the doctor (albeit more gently than usual).

“Rest, now.” McCoy commanded in his best no-nonsense tone. (He has got plenty of practice in employing it, thanks mostly to his two current patients.)

“The captain…I must..”

“You must lie back down there, that’s what you must. Jim’s gonna be okay, and the rest of this game is my play, hear me?”

“Doctor-“

“Lie down for five minutes, okay?”

Spock would have argued, but already his exhausted body was taking over. His eyes closed, and whatever arguments he may have had to offer trailed off. McCoy waved the medscanner over him – natural sleep. He was gonna be okay, too.

McCoy finally looked back at the junior officers, his expression being answer enough for their anxious, unvoiced question. He nodded.

“They’ll be okay.”

There would be a day, he knew, when he wouldn’t be able to say that. When one or both of this pair of stubborn, self sacrificing idiots he had somehow become best friends with would fall away so far that not even each other’s voice would be able to call them back. But this is not that day. For now, that will have to be enough.


End file.
